A Hodgepodge of Drabbles
by shinigami nanoda
Summary: A collection of drabbles, scraps, and snippets. Some language. Some slash. 100 words.
1. Chapter 1

AN: The first three drabbles make up a set, so I would recommend reading them together. Also, many thanks to Fan80 for reading these over for me!

Today was the day. Today he could do anything.

Racetrack whistled tunelessly around his cigar as he nervously adjusted his hat. He took a deep breath and strutted purposefully down the streets, cutting through well worn alleys towards the docks.

"Heya Spot."

"What are you doing here, Race?"

"Oh nothin'; just passing through."

Spot's eyes narrowed slightly. He smelled a lie. He didn't like it when people lied to him.

"If it's nothing, get outta here. I got stuff to do," Spot's stare was icy.

Race knew a dismissal when he heard it.

Maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow could be the day.


	2. Chapter 2

Spot watched Racetrack turn on his heels and walk away. He was still watching when Race pulled his cap off, raked his fingers through his hair, and shoved his hat back on in frustration.

He knew why Race showed up so often. They danced around the subject for months, neither of them putting words to what was happening; it was safer that way. They needed to decide if it was worth the risk, because these sorts of things usually didn't end well for people like them. Spot was pretty convinced it would be.

He turned back to face the water.


	3. Chapter 3

Today Racetrack didn't leave. He stood his ground, heart hammering in his throat.

"You know why I'm here."

Spot turned towards him, his blue eyes cold as he cocked his head to one side.

"Do I?"

Seconds stretched taut as Race struggled for words. He heard the challenge in Spot's question, daring him to answer. "I can't." His voice was filled with frustration, his face helpless.

"I never pegged you for a coward, Race," Spot sneered.

Race cocked his eyebrows, "Funny, I always pegged you as an ass."

Spot couldn't help cracking a smile. That was good enough for him.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: A modern Specs/Dutchy drabble that popped up as I was trying to work through some plot holes on my other** **fics.**

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Dutchy's heart fluttered in his chest. He and Specs were watching a terrible movie, like platonic friends did all the time. However, every time Specs' shoulder accidentally bumped his, electricity crackled against his skin, which didn't feel very platonic. Dutchy reached out and covered Specs' hand with his own. Dutchy felt Specs' hand move, and immediately jerked his hand back. He made a mistake; it was a stupid thing to do.

Then Specs' hand found his.

The kept their eyes trained on the TV, but their long, bony fingers twined together, and when their shoulders touched they didn't move apart.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Modern day Bloscar. Because I can.**

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"Well, fuck you too!"

The words Blink hurled at Oscar's back earlier that morning still hung in the air. Blink rubbed the heel of his palm against his good eye. What if he didn't come back?

There was a knock at the door. Blink opened it, and Oscar stood there, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold.

"I'm sorry," Oscar mumbled, looking at his shoes.

"It wasn't just you." Blink led him back inside. "I'm sorry too."

The dazed look of hope on Oscar's usually hard face was all Blink needed. They'd be okay. They always were.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Mild Blush. Because my brain decided the next chapter of If You're Into It should be ridiculously long, and I'm having trouble cutting it down.**

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Blink loved the sun. He lived for summer, for baking in the sunshine and feeling the heat of the cobblestones through his shoes.

Unfortunately, summer was long gone and autumn was over. The bitter air slid through the seams of his coat. Clouds gathered in the distance, promising snow.

Mush clapped him on the shoulder and asked, "You coming, Blink?"

Blink shrugged and nodded, burying his hands deeper in his pockets. He blamed his slight flush on the wind. What he couldn't explain away was the heat that radiated from where Mush's hand had been.

At least he was warm.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Some fluffy Blush, because I haven't posted anything in far too long.**

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Blink pushed Mush through the gates, his arms full of papers, eager to start selling. Instead of swinging his arm around Mush's shoulder like usual, he grabbed his hand, leading him through the crowd.

Blink's hand was dry from holding papers, knuckles cracked from long days out in the weather. His calloused palms, scrapes and scars spelling out years of fist fights and stickball games, seemed rough against Mush's own.

Mush shook his head to clear it. He was used to slaps on the back or punches in the arm. Something about simply gripping hands seemed different. He hoped so.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:I have a massive headcanon about organizedcrimeboss!Spot, so I couldn't help myself. Someday I should actually write out the whole story.**

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Oscar was all hard angles and sharp corners. He was jagged knuckles and bony elbows, cold eyes and pinched lips. He was quick, didn't ask questions, and kept his mouth shut.

Ditching Morris as his partner was the smartest thing he'd ever done. Morris was dead weight; he hesitated and made mistakes. Oscar was tired of cleaning up his messes. He split from Morris without a second thought. This wasn't about family. It was business, and Oscar was good at his job.

He was very good. He was possibly the best.

So Spot wanted him.

Together they would be unstoppable.


End file.
